


To Kill A Pisces

by cyanoscarlet, perdizzion, SutcliffonFire, YuriPirozhki (AceOfSpace)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, Mer!Yuuri, Prince!Victor, yoi collab game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanoscarlet/pseuds/cyanoscarlet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdizzion/pseuds/perdizzion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SutcliffonFire/pseuds/SutcliffonFire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfSpace/pseuds/YuriPirozhki
Summary: “You were caught in the act holding your own dagger over the Crown Prince’s heart. The Royal Guards were alerted by a witness’s scream, thus foiling your treacherous plot. How do you plead?”Viktor puts on his most winsome smile, not heeding the uncomfortable sense of familiarity crawling in his chest. Best get this show over with. “Not guilty, of course.”A project for theYuri!!! On Ice Collab gamehosted by @motherofcakes on Twitter.





	1. A Surprise Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the first time Viktor felt alone in such a long while. He had been quite preoccupied with lofty ambitions and grand plans for quite some time, that he had somehow taken his friends for granted - rather, he had not noticed the sudden threat that had slipped beneath his notice and stabbed him in the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter by [cyanoscarlet](http://www.twitter.com/cyanoscarlett) / art by [DramaticDandy](http://www.twitter.com/DramaticDandy) and [perdizzion](http://www.twitter.com/perdizzion)

"Viktor, human pirate and citizen of Nadir, you stand accused of attempted murder of His Royal Highness, Yuuri Katsuki, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Meridia. How do you plead?"

A hush falls over the assembly, the silence only serving to heighten the tension and hostility in the air - the accusing glares of the high court, a thousand faces flushed with rage, with fins flared and teeth on display. Angry, red flames flicker on crystal torches all around, a departure from the passive blue and green that usually illuminate the halls of the royal palace.

The accused himself stands behind a bench of refined coral, his worn jacket adorned with gold buttons and his dusty knee-length pants a sharp contrast to the sheer finery bedecking the merfolk in attendance. Viktor is barely fazed by the proceedings - with a pirating career as long and as prolific as his, something like this is bound to happen at some point. He thinks of it as yet another form of adventure in a way - an unexpected change in pace, but exciting just the same.

“You were caught in the act holding your own dagger over the Crown Prince’s heart,” the Chancellor continues, maintaining the last few measures of impartiality in his tone. “The Royal Guards were alerted by a witness’s scream, thus foiling your treacherous plot. How do you plead?”

Viktor puts on his most winsome smile, not heeding the uncomfortable sense of familiarity crawling in his chest. _Best get this show over with._ “Not guilty, of course.”

At this, the mob rises up in outrage; had it not been for the enchanted shields separating the court from the gallery, tridents and crystal lasers would probably already be flying all over the place. Or, perhaps, Viktor has the silly etiquette of the nobility to thank; most of the spectators are merfolk of the upper class, as evidenced by the crystal artifacts hanging around their necks. They could all just transform their fins right there and then to dispose of him themselves, but they haven’t - yet.

The plaintiff, the Crown Prince himself, is noticeably absent from the proceedings. Neither are Viktor’s crew members, too, among the stands. He could only hope that they are hiding somewhere safe.

It is the first time he’d felt alone in such a long while. He had been quite preoccupied with lofty ambitions and grand plans for quite some time, that he had somehow taken his friends for granted - rather, he had not noticed the sudden threat that had slipped beneath his notice and stabbed him in the back.

Viktor had once thought of Meridia as a realm full of surprises, and indeed, his expectations have been exceeded more than once. But this, tonight, perhaps, is the greatest one of them all.

  
.

  
It was an enchanting evening, to say the least. What had started out as a not-so-formal discussion over afternoon tea prolonged into the late hours of the night as they strolled hand-in-hand by the seashore, bare feet digging into white sand as gentle waves lapped at their ankles, and Makkachin running at their heels. This hidden cove by the outskirts of the capital city is the Crown Prince’s favorite place to unwind and think, and Viktor can definitely see why: he is hopelessly drawn in by the dancing colors of the sky reflected in his love’s sparkling, brown eyes.

“Viktor? Are you listening?”

Yuuri’s petulant voice brings him back to reality, and even then, he notices more the pleasant lilt in the other’s tone, the way his mouth curves around his vowels, even the way he stumbles on the harder consonants of the Nadir tongue. Viktor can never get enough of the melody in Yuuri’s voice, every word sending warm shivers down his spine.

“Yes, my dear?” And he knows his own eyes are shining just as brightly when he smiles back, because Yuuri’s pout eventually breaks into one, as well. The cool sea-blue and green lights clash horribly with the comical downturn of his eyes, and then even that mismatch goes away as they widen and gaze intently into Viktor’s.

“You need to pay more attention when people are speaking with you,” Yuuri eventually settles for a gentle scolding, but Viktor can tell that he absolutely means no harm with it. There's something about their playful banter that brings back precious memories from long ago, and to this thought Viktor's expression softens ever so subtly. It's wonderfully funny how things between them have changed so much yet stayed perfectly the same.

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness; I never meant to slight you in such an uncourteous manner." Viktor makes a grand gesture like the seasoned gentleman he is, before planting a soft kiss on Yuuri's crystal pendant. The artifact seemingly reacts to the pirate's touch, illuminating from below its wearer's flushed face.

"V-Viktor! I told you not to call me that!" Yuuri stutters. In the few weeks Viktor has spent by the Mer-Prince's side, he has learned exactly how much the man dislikes being referred to by his title. It has been that way with his family, the King, Queen, and Princess; his close friends and advisors, the Five Paladins; the members of the Upper Court; and now, Viktor. They both know exactly how much they mean to each other, but have decided not to place any label on this special thing between them - not yet. Everything has its own time.

"Oh, sorry about that," Viktor says with a chuckle, before leaning in to press a chaste, playful kiss on Yuuri's lips. They stay still in each other's embrace for what seems like an eternity, letting the cool wind caress their warmed bodies. _If only we don't have to be apart,_ Yuuri had once told him, and for once, he echoes the same sentiment

Viktor pulls away first. "It's getting late, my dear," he says with regret. Yuuri looks up to meet his gaze, his eyes also reflecting the sadness at their imminent parting. They are slow to let go, and when they are finally apart, Yuuri calls to him one last time.

"Do you... Will we..." the Prince starts, then stops, anguished. His eyes fill with tears as they express repeatedly what he earnestly wishes for: _Please don’t go._

_If only._

"Of course," Viktor turns to Yuuri with a smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."

  
.

  
“You hang out with that sardine too often.”

Yurio, his first mate, doesn’t mince his words. His opinions are as unrestrained as his cutlass is unsheathed, which is practically all the time. Nevertheless, his quick thinking has saved the crew on many occasions, both pirate battles and random misadventures alike. The periodic outburst aside, the boy carries himself with a practiced air of maturity decades over his true age, and Viktor would often wonder if he is hiding anything beneath his grown-up facade.

He, too, wonders if his own mask is holding up well. There’s this common expression used in Nadir about “becoming the mask,” and of all the locutions and flowery intricacies the language has to offer, this, by far, he likes the best.

“What of it?” Viktor responds to Yurio with a smirk, and he sees the desired effect in how the boy’s shoulders stiffen and fists shake. Mila knows how to rile him up the best, and she would be glad to see their captain taking cues on how to ruffle his first mate’s feathers.

But then again, maybe he has gone too far this time.

Viktor finds himself suddenly pinned to the wall, his pristine collar wrinkled under Yurio’s balled fists. He is met with an angry, ferocious gaze, with wide, emerald-green eyes intensely glaring into his own. For a moment he feels vulnerable, and the thought of a mere child threatening him like so greatly unnerves him.

 _A force to be reckoned with,_ people say of Yurio. _Cold, calculating, like a tiger hunting its prey._

It is then that Viktor remembers Old Yakov’s advice: _Always sleep with one eye open._

Yurio shudders as he feels the tickle of Viktor’s breath on his arm. “I’d be careful if I were you,” he continues on with clenched teeth. “You’ve no idea what these Mer scum are really like. They…” He suddenly trails off, a flash of grief and what looks like guilt crossing his eyes. The moment of weakness allows Viktor to regain his bearings, and he retaliates by tightly gripping the boy’s chin, pulling him closer.

“They?” he prompts with a raised eyebrow. Viktor briefly relishes the subtle quake of Yurio’s jaw in his palm, the gradual reddening of his youthful cheeks. Three counts of silence pass between them, and the traction on his clothing is released as he feels his arm brusquely swatted away. He watches amusedly with crossed arms as his first mate turns around, defeated for now.

“You don’t know who the real enemy is,” the boy mutters under his breath. “Consider yourself warned.”

The image of Yurio’s retreating back is burned into Viktor’s mind, and those cryptic words, honest and unrestrained, keep him awake at night. For just a few hours, his mask slips off, and he lets himself doubt.

  
.

  
The throne room is a sight to behold, with crystals of various cuts and sizes ascending from marble pillars varnished to perfection, curtains and tapestries adorned with elaborate embroideries and even more precious stones, and a large, centerpiece crystal chandelier that seems to have a life of its own. Little gardens of coral and aquatic plants stand out from the rigid motif and give the place a touch of homeliness, as if imparting a kind invitation to unwind and stay for a while.

To Viktor, it will always be a mystery how the creators of such a heartfelt design are also capable of killing and starting a generations-old war.

Of the five Paladins, as they call themselves, Phichit Chulanont is the most open and talkative. Like a master performer, he takes on the task of entertaining the court with stories and conversation as they wait for the Prince to arrive. If he holds any ounce of hatred for them, sea-dwellers with legs for fins, he certainly hides it very well. Never has Viktor witnessed a genuine smile and a free laugh like his among the merfolk in the capital city, much less in any other part of Meridia.

They remind him of the beautiful, brown eyes that have remained in his memories since he was a child - the ones that have brought him to his feet and, eventually, to this very room. He wonders if he will ever get to see them again.

Phichit has been engaged in a heated discussion for hours with Christophe, their crew’s attractive and capable boatswain, when a sentry swims over and whispers something into his ear. The Paladin’s expression shifts from slight concern to outright worry, then settles on a placid one with underlying hints of excitement. He solemnly dismisses everyone in attendance except for Viktor, whom he asks to follow him to the balcony.

“His Highness has asked to meet with you in private,” Phichit tells him point blank. Viktor raises an eyebrow in amusement at the development; he has not expected the Crown Prince of Meridia to be this secretive, though he suspects he should have expected this much, given that the correspondence he had received in Floruit could not be any more vague with regards to its sender’s objectives. It had taken the crew three whole weeks of investigating the letter’s origin before an informant posited it to be from someone in the royal palace.

_Surprise after surprise._

“Prince ‘ _Yuu_ ri’, isn’t he called,” Viktor asks nonchalantly, stressing the longer Meridian vowel in the Royal name. Yuri would definitely not be pleased to hear that the Prince’s name sounds exactly like his. He'd have to deal with it, eventually; princes will always be above pirates, no matter what.

And above them both, lovely mer with rich, expressive eyes, like the ones staring back at him now.

Viktor is unsure as to who between them backs away first. The Crown Prince appears quite intrigued as he rests his hand on the edge of the door, but his eyes show a hint of uncertainty as he takes in the unkempt pirate mess before him. The energetic pat on Viktor’s back does not help things, either; he doesn’t know what to make of the sudden glint in Phichit’s eye, followed by wiggling eyebrows and an unabashed grin that is, no doubt, the cause of the growing blush on his lord’s cheeks.

Rapid-fire Meridian goes back and forth between the two mer, and Viktor, with his limited fluency in the tongue, could only catch some words like “trust” and “plan” and something that approximately means “love”. Before long, Phichit excuses himself with an encouraging squeeze on Viktor’s arm and a devious wink sent in the Prince’s direction, and the two are left alone.

“I certainly did not expect us to meet this way,” the Prince addresses him in Nadir after a while, relaxing his features into a diplomatic smile. It is one that Viktor is all too familiar with and knows how to return well, with years of training and experience holding every muscle in position. He finds it ironic that fate should bring him back to this kind of setting after he has long abandoned it for vast waters and freer skies.

“I have to concur, Your Highness,” Viktor answers impassively. _Those beautiful eyes do not belong here_ , he thinks. They do not deserve to be trapped like this, burdened and lamenting about problems beyond what they can see. For a moment he sees a gilded crystal cage, with ropes of vine snaking around the Prince’s form and tying him down, and Viktor wishes for nothing more than to take him away from this place.

Yuri might have been right about how coming here was definitely a bad idea.

Viktor does not shy away when the Prince closes the distance between them. “Please, Viktor, call me Yuuri.” The proffered familiarity now gives him a name to associate with the memories from his youth, for which he is more than glad.

“Yuuri, then,” Viktor acquiesces, schooling his features to match the Prince’s. He remembers the game he has to play, the very reason for which he has arrived here.

“I have called you here to ask for your help,” Prince Yuuri continues, his tone wavering for a moment as he considers his next response. Viktor predicts several ways this could go and has several responses ready, but he is not prepared for what he hears next:

To bring together the human and the mer. A bloodless end to the great war that has plagued both their nations and caused much grief and damage that spanned centuries. Nothing short of laughable, the jaded part of himself thinks, reinforced by hurtful memories of old that have tainted everything but the sparkling, brown eyes that reflect the dancing colors of the sky.

But like silk hiding steel, those gentle eyes now burn with a resolve that draws him in and consumes him whole, and he is compelled to stay. _Surprise after surprise._

“Interesting.” Viktor moves in and leans forward, until their faces are but a hair’s breadth away. “Your plan, let's hear it.”

  
.

  
It has been three months since their crew has last seen land. From enduring a sudden ambush attack to braving the Cavern of Hydras, the group as a whole very much welcomes the much-needed downtime. Upon disembarking, Sara takes charge of facilitating repairs of the _La Victoire_ and restocking of food and supplies. The port city of Floruit is more than glad for their patronage; Viktor’s name is widely-known among pirates, treasure hunters and sea-dwellers alike, and his present team of five is known as the best and most decorated maritime crew in recent history.

An onslaught of letters welcomes them at every port they disembark at. Many are job requests ranging from treasure-finding to mark-hunting, some are invitations to form guilds or join expeditions. Viktor summarily dismisses most of the correspondence from Nadir without reading the contents; many times now have they tried and failed to ask for his aid in the war effort against Meridia. Free agents such as themselves have no need for involvement in such political squabbles, for their greater desires are as vast as the sea and as high as the sky.

Today, however, he is greeted by a different kind of news.

One comes in the form of a rumor, about how the long-disappeared Prince of Nadir has been spotted amongst a crowd of mercenaries in the Abyss. Stories of his treachery against his kingdom are whispered among market-goers, yet no one knows what has really become of him after his trial and supposed execution. Viktor is piqued by the mention of a bounty; some nobles must have that much free time and money to want a dead person gone.

Another comes in a encoded message written on purple parchment. Its contents are direct yet incredibly vague, some of the lines even outright ludicrous. Yet between the eloquent lines, Viktor reads heartfelt sincerity and stories of long ago, true and dear and close to his heart. With every word he sees warm, brown eyes, hears a gentle voice, imagines two children and a dog playing by the sea. How this unknown sender knows so much about his life, he cannot begin to know, yet something about them stirs in his soul and lights a fire in his heart.

Young Leo, the town’s informant, traces the letter’s origin to be from the elusive Kingdom of Meridia - from the royal palace, of all places. Yuri is far from amused at this idea of a practical joke, Christophe is intrigued, Georgi is doubtful, Mila and Sara are both beyond thrilled. And Viktor?

He is more than determined to find out.


	2. A New Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor knows that there are only two ways out of this situation. The first is that his body gives in, and he dies, meaning that the angry public get what they want. The second is that he is eventually left alone, tattered and bruised, but otherwise okay. Of course he'd have no home, no possessions, and no direction for his future. He isn't used to being penniless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter by [YuriPirozkhi](http://www.twitter.com/babyanidala) / art by [katsugenki](http://www.twitter.com/katsugenki)

After a while, the screaming stops. He is alone.

Viktor awakens on a rough paved road and he notices two things. The first is that he is cold. In the time he’d been unconscious, the sky above him has transformed from a soft blend of orange and pink to a deep indigo, littered with stars. Cool gusts of wind caress his skin, push locks of silver hair into his eyes and take the edge off of the searing pain all over his body. Such pain is the second thing that he notices. He tries to move from the ground, but struggles. On his stomach and lying flat on the rugged concrete, even his face is aching. Viktor peers longingly at his outstretched hands and sees bloodied knuckles, bruised patches of skin and grazes closer to his wrists. He sees the distinct patterns of boot prints on his arms, and he hates to think of what has become of his face. Licking his lips, he tastes blood. He coughs and a throbbing pain emerges from beneath his temples.

Getting to his feet takes a lot of work. His muscles are tender and he’s having trouble keeping balance. Seeing straight and thinking clearly is more difficult than ever. He feels a nudge against his shin and winces, biting his tongue to avoid crying out in pain. Thankfully, it is just his beloved dog, Makkachin, making himself known so that Viktor doesn’t wander off without him. What he has done to deserve such a loyal companion, Viktor doesn’t know, but he is pleased nonetheless. So long as the dog counts, Makkachin is now his only possession of value aside from the clothes on his back, and even they had become tattered and blood-stained. He realises that he really has been thrown out of his home, chased to the edge of the capital and beaten like a common pest, then left to die. His knees buckle as he tries to walk, and within seconds, he finds himself crashing towards the pavement once more, on all fours before his cheek makes contact with the ground once again. He expects that nobody will come to his rescue, and the people will get what they want in the end.

Yakov Feltsman is unlike anybody he has ever met; a hermit with no verbal filter, and seemingly no sense of shame. His living space is small and rather dirty - something to which Viktor is extremely unaccustomed - but he’s content in being there all the same. The older man offers food, a bath, and even a couch on which to sleep. He tends to Viktor’s wounds and brings him clean clothes to wear.

“Aren’t you worried?” asks Viktor, his pale eyes narrowing as Yakov brings him a bowl of hot soup.

“Me? Worried?” Yakov responds almost as if he’s offended. “I know exactly who you are,’ he assures him. “I just don’t give a damn what they think.”

Viktor looks towards his lap, and starts to eat his soup without any further questions.

Days pass and his injuries slowly begin to heal. Viktor stops experiencing dizzy spells when he stands up, and he no longer has the mobility of an eighty-year-old, but much more like his eighteen-year-old self, before he’d been hurt. To show his gratitude to the old hermit, he cleans the entire house, especially the room in which he’d been staying. He wishes that he could do more, provide more, but he knows that there’s nothing more he can do. He isn’t used to being penniless.

Over time, they begin to talk more to each other. Yakov seems to know all about Viktor, but he doesn’t find this surprising. What he does find intriguing, though, is that he never would have guessed how the older man had spent his life. The thought of wandering the seas as a pirate fascinated him to no end, and coming to terms with the fact that Yakov was one is something that he can only describe as mind-blowing. Viktor sees the life of a pirate as a perfect one; one in which a person can do as they please for the most part. He quickly comes to love hearing Yakov’s stories of his voyages across the seas, his epic battles and the times he’d recovered lost treasure. Not once does he hear anything about keeping up appearances, refusing to stand up for one’s core beliefs, or caring too much about what other people think. Viktor starts to think that becoming a pirate isn’t such a bad idea, especially since he’s in need of a new direction in life.

There’s one thing that cements the decision for him.

“Yakov,” asks Viktor on the night before he leaves, “Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”

He shakes his head. “No,” answers Yakov with a shrug. “We pirates have no stake in the war. Hardly anything you do affects me, and I couldn’t care less about what you get up to.”

Viktor departs the following morning, but leaves a parting gift behind. His waist-length ponytail, secured with string, is cut off during the night by his own hand, and is placed with a note on Yakov’s main table.

 _Thank you for everything. If anyone asks, you can tell them you killed me._  
_Sincerely, a new pirate._  
-

Viktor is eighteen and has no trouble facing a crowd. In fact, it’s something with which he has a lot of experience. He recalls countless times in which he’s sat with his mother and father, watching them give addresses and wave politely to passersby. He remembers being taught at a young age in how to deal with constant attention, how to stand tall and look fearless in a mob, and how to remain polite and discreet in the face of persistent impoliteness. This experience, however, is very different, and it’s something of which Viktor is extremely aware. As he stands behind a mahogany lectern with his lips inches from a microphone, he does not see the townspeople’s smiling faces and collectively interested gaze. Instead, it’s almost like he can see the fury in each of their eyes. The tension in the silent air is tangible. If a pin were to drop to the ground, he would hear it, but at present the only sound in his ear is that of his pounding heartbeat, until the judge speaks.

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Viktor Nikiforov, Heir of the Sovereign Nadir,” his voice booms among the courtroom, “you stand accused of high treason, of divulging confidential information, of sixty-seven counts of enemy smuggling, and of eleven counts of breaking and entering. How do you plead?”

“Kill the bastard!” roars a middle-aged man from the crowd, and hearing it makes Viktor feel uneasy.

The judge then clears his throat, seemingly in an attempt to calm the spectators. He asks again, “How do you plead?”

For the young prince, it’s a no-brainer.

“Not guilty.”

There are hisses and heckles from the crowd, most of which Viktor doesn’t understand. As far as he is aware, he hasn’t done anything considered inhumane. Regardless of how much the people of his kingdom insisted on believing it, the Mer were not enemies, but instead like-minded individuals with a mutual desire to live in peace. They had more than a desire, but a right to live in a world free of war, and free of unnecessary cruelty, and who was Viktor to take that right away from them? While the judge putting him on trial has him accused of ‘enemy smuggling’ the teenager knows that he’s done nothing of the sort. He’s simply been helping refugees; offering them an alternative from their impoverished existences in Meridia.

It’s a shame that nobody else sees it that way.

The trial continues, the prosecutors and defence lawyers being frequently interrupted by angry spectators. It pains Viktor to hear so fearlessly demand he be hung, stoned, or burned at the stake. He can only imagine as to how his parents must be feeling. Things weren’t meant to become like this. Alas, he is unable to foresee a way out of the situation. He knows that all he can do is tell the truth, from his perspective of course, even though he anticipates that no one will believe him. He can almost feel the people’s overall perception of him shift, from Nadir’s sweetheart -its lovable heir - to one of the most shocking traitors the nation had ever seen.

He is disappointed, but not surprised, when the judge finds him guilty of all charges. His heart sinks at the realisation of what such a verdict means. Viktor’s palms are already sweaty as a result of his nerves, and his brow is beginning to grow damp as well. He knows that he isn’t directly responsible for what happened, and wishes that the people of Nadir could realise that for themselves, yet it seemed that they were too bloodthirsty to pay common sense any mind. War has been at the forefront of the country’s politics for generations, and Viktor assumes it likely that many had been hoping for a reason to riot in the streets.

For sparing his life, the young prince has his mother and father to thank. Nadir’s extremely well-respected King and Queen are able to convince the supreme court to lessen his sentence of public execution to an alternative that is just as heartbreaking for them. Viktor is ceremoniously stripped of his title as heir to the throne and exiled from the royal family. He is dismissed from every position he holds in Nadir’s political and military organisations, and banished from the nation entirely. With nothing but the clothing on his back, Viktor is escorted from the courthouse by guards, with the intention to remove him from the public indefinitely.

The guards are no match for the angry mob on his trail.

“Traitor!” he hears people screaming, the voices getting louder as they come closer.

“Mer sympathiser scum! You should hang!” growled others.

Viktor begins to panic as the space around him shrinks. His breaths become shorter and shallower, but he knows that he needs to run. Furious townspeople are approaching him from all directions, and the exiled prince is growing frightened. Within seconds after he sees them, the first begin to attack. Some are using rocks as makeshift weapons. There are women who are flinging their purses at him, surprisingly heavy as they make contact with his sides. Most are dealing offensive blows using only their fists. He tries to defend himself from them, holding his arms up to cover and protect his face, but it does not take too long until he is overpowered. Knowing that he isn’t strong enough to overpower so many people, he falls to the ground and tucks his knees to his chest, his main focus now to prevent internal bleeding. 

He closes his eyes and weeps as he is kicked, spat on and taunted. Viktor knows that at this point, there are only two possible ways out of his situation. The first is that the angry mob never back down on their assault, and succeed in killing him as per their wishes. The second is that they get bored with time, and eventually leave him alone. Viktor isn’t sure as to which option is worse, given that as of mere moments ago, he has no home, no assets and no direction for his future.

He just wants the screaming to stop.

-

Viktor goes to the coastline at dusk.

His parents do not want his company for the evening; it is their wedding anniversary and they have made plans. Viktor doesn’t mind. After all, what fifteen-year-old wants to see their parents being loved-up and right in their face? He certainly does not. Instead, he takes the opportunity to indulge in his adolescent cravings of rebellion and wander outside of the palace’s perimeter, disguising himself in the plainest clothes he could find to make sure that he isn’t recognised. For the most part, he likes being the Crown Prince of Nadir. He likes his financial security and pampered lifestyle. He is thankful for the opportunities he gets and the education he receives. However sometimes, he likes to be a normal boy and play outside; to have cool breezes kiss his face and to feel rough sand between his toes. He likes to watch the sun rise and fall on the horizon, and to observe its shimmering reflection on the ocean. It is the ocean itself that he likes most of all.

The Mer of Meridia are a mysterious people, or so many of those in the kingdom tend to think. Supposedly, they spend of their time underwater and spying on the Nadir, using their advanced technology to eavesdrop on their conversations in the hopes of learning their weaknesses. They dabbled in magic unheard of by those on land, and very occasionally, one of their glowing crystals would wash onto the shore. They had slimy tails that glittered under natural light, but could also be turned to legs seemingly at will. They were fascinating, terrifying, and the main enemies of the Nadir, such as they had been for generations.

Viktor knows them differently.

He has one boy to thank for that.

As far as he as concerned, the Mer are no different to the Nadir. They, too, find joy in the beauty of the horizon and the ever-changing sky. They have their own markets and festivals, and monarchy just like that on land, and much like those in Viktor’s homeland, they are greatly affected by the ongoing war. The Mer have similar instances of people losing everything, not being able to afford basic necessities like food and medicine. The two societies suffer the same tragedies of their innocent civilians becoming casualties and scapegoats in a feud led by the rich.

So long as he is one of the wealthiest among the Nadir, Viktor believes that there he more he must do

“I’m glad that you’re safe,” he calls out to a figure as it emerges from the water, slowly reaching the shore and standing tall.

The Mer’s tail has transformed into a svelte pair of legs, shimmering with the remnants of the crystal used to transform it. Viktor has seen the process enough times to not visibly show his dumbfoundment, but he still stares at the newly-formed legs for a while. The way that the Mer is able to walk without difficulty so soon has him intrigued.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” the Mer replies, her voice sincere. “You have given me a home and a job. I’m in debt to you.” She appears to be in young adulthood, though Viktor knows that Meridians tend to live longer and age more slowly than the land-dwelling folk of Nadir, so he assumes her to be around the same age as his mother. 

“But I’m not done yet,” Viktor continues, “I hope to bring to your family on land; your brothers, and your sister. I can pay you a wage!”

“You’re a saint,” she tells him earnestly before wrapping her wet arms around him in an embrace. “A real saint.”

She is the first of the Mer that he successfully smuggles into the village, and over time, he is able to bring her sister and her three brothers to land with her. Viktor has made a name for himself in the kingdom as a young business mogul, investing in a factory to produce textiles, tapestries and clothing, and that is how he guarantees employment for the wayward refugees. After a year, he has ten employees from Meridia working amongst the Nadir, and they blend in like they were born on land. Such numbers slowly rise so that twenty-two more join the ranks in the next eighteen months. By the time of Viktor’s eighteenth birthday, he has smuggled and employed sixty-seven Mer, and up until that time, they remain anonymous. They are simply out-of-towners relocating for work, and the people of Nadir know none the wiser.

One evening, everything changes.

Viktor awakens to the disturbing news that a village on the outskirts of the kingdom has been raided, the majority of its citizens robbed or killed. He weeps at the news of houses being burned to the ground, of children being orphaned, their only mementos of their families stolen and trashed. An orphaned seven-year-old child begging in the streets. He prepares himself for a formal address to the community, and meetings with officials and politicians to discuss an aid effort. Then, as he sits in his study and begins work on his speech, more news comes to the kingdom. The attacker has revealed themselves, and Viktor freezes as he processes the information. The attacker is from Meridia. 

‘How has a Mer remained hidden amongst the Nadir?’ people are asking themselves, but only the young prince knows the truth. He feels his palms become clammy as he fears that he will be exposed, his factory shut down and the refugees he’d rescued are exiled and sent in poverty back to the ocean. He cringes as the attacker brags about Mer supremacy, and their plans about bringing the entire kingdom of Nadir to rubble. Their words spread across the nation like wildfire, and the entire community is in shock, save for Viktor.

It is only a matter of time before the answer the one burning question on everyone’s lips. How was a Mer able to conceal themselves amongst the land-dwellers for so long? Who had given them the means to live in a way without being seen? Who dare reach out to the enemy?

“You don’t know?” the attacker asks, a devilish grin tugging as his lips. “There’s only one person to thank; your _darling_ Prince Viktor, of course.”


	3. A Lasting Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child can be many things. Playful, energetic, affectionate. But more often than not, they are impressionable. When something catches their eye enough, they will pursue it 'till the end of time. Curiosity in children is something not to take lightly, because it can and will shape their entire future. Whether they're aware of it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter by [SutcliffonFire](http://www.twitter.com/SutcliffonFire) / art by [nikniako](http://www.twitter.com/nikniako)

Despite cautious warnings and a half-hearted threat to take away his beloved puppy from his parents, Viktor strays from his guards and heads for the sea. He had woken up before the crack of the first light and decided to take the servant’s halls through the back of the palace. The young prince could count on one hand the times when he and his parents would walk along the shoreline and watch the colors melt into each other during the early hours. He was 7 years old then, a wisp of a boy who couldn’t yet understand why they suddenly stopped visiting the sea altogether after a few weeks. As he slipped through a door normally used for deliveries, Viktor recalled memories of his parents splashing in the water like it was their own personal playground.

The journey to the shoreline was not a far walk, with the gates of the palace surrounded by the sea; his parents once told him that the palace was built along to see to “watch over it.” He never understood why they’d want to watch it when their neighbors barely bothered them. As far as he knew, the Mer have never made an appearance since the reign of his great-great grandparents. Both Nadir and Meridian have ceased interaction with each other because of the degree of conflict between them; the history lesson aside, the sharp bark of his beloved Makkachin brought his attention to the small waves beating gently against the beach rhythmically.

“ _Beautiful,_ isn’t it Makka?”

Viktor’s gaze drifts over the horizon, watching the sky dissolve from the dark blue into a blend of reds, oranges and purples. He feels much younger than he is (which was saying something for an 9 year old) and in a rush, discarded his boots and ran into the surf. Viktor heard Makkachin bound after him, their excitable yips ringing through the chilly morning air. The sharp smell of the ocean felt energizing and he set off to gather shells for his new collection and play with his adorable poodle.

 

 

* * *

  

 

Half an hour later, he can no longer hear his dog’s barks. While a behaved puppy, Makkachin is a vocal one. The puppy is an open book, you can tell when they’re lying about the mess they’ve made or when they want the pastry in your hand. The silence unnerves Viktor.

“ _MAKKACHIN?!_ ”

He scans his surroundings when he hears a very faint series of barks, they’re beyond a closed off area surrounded by huge boulders. He sprints towards it, leaving behind his boots and satchel full of shells in fear of Makkachin being stuck in the rocks and near to drowning. When Viktor scrambles over the rocks, he catches between the cracks a blur of brown and he starts to quicken his pace. The rocks are slippery with algae and in his haste his arms are red and sore from losing his grip several times already. Viktor continues to call out for Makkachin hoping for their safety only his voice raise to a shout when he hears the usually tame water splash about.

“ _MAKKACHIN?!_ HOLD ON, I’M COMING! DON’T WORRY!!”

A puppy is not made for swimming in the open sea just yet, and even with this gentle tide, Makka could easily drift out to the deeper parts of the sea due to their small body. Viktor is a few feet from the top, his arms aching from the effort to crawl over the boulders; when he finally crosses over the top, he slides down the bumpy slope of the rocks, eyes focused only on the puppy at the very edge of the water.

Viktor just manages to scoop up the puppy before they wandered off towards the deep end. The Prince was just in the middle of scolding the puppy for leaving his side when he hears a throat behind cleared behind him.

A young man with black hair sat right at the surface of the water, watching him apprehensively. Viktor feels like his throat has closed up because he can’t make a coherent sound as he takes in the other’s flawless profile—from the hair slicked back from the sea water to his toned chest adorned with a necklace of shells and crystals—going all the way down to clear water where the man’s piscine lower half is shown. A long black tail effortlessly keeps the man afloat, with flowing pelvic fins along his hips. Whenever a wave pushes against him it makes the fins flutter, showing off the red undertone of the fins and the bottoms he seems to have on.

“Staring is rude, isn’t it?”. The Mer’s voice, while timid and soft, has a bit of cheek behind it. Viktor felt his legs carry him into the surf as he watched the other man rise from the water, his tail splits and most of the dark color melts away, revealing the same pale skin that matches his upper body. The Mer gracefully walks towards him, but stops in his tracks when Viktor’s knees give out and he falls.

“Are you alright!? Oh Neptune, I don’t know how to treat humans!” the other man drops down to his own knees and examines Viktor’s legs with a confused look on his face. Viktor can’t help the squeak that comes out of his mouth.

“How did you do that..?”, Viktor’s gaze fell unto the other man’s legs, while bare, also seemed to have scales leftover from the transformation. The black scales snaked along his calves and looked smooth to the touch. He has heard of the Mer being able to transform into land walkers, but never imagined how it would look or perform on land; Viktor was instantly mesmerized and felt as though he needed to know more. “Does changing hurt?”

Taken aback, he looks Viktor over. “Not.. anymore. My garments allow me to change,” he gestured to the netting wrapped around his waist, “Only those who can handle it are allowed to wear them.”

“Could a human wear them?”

“You don’t need what you already have.” Viktor lets a small laugh escape his lips, and the other man (mer?) shooting him a small glare.  
  
“You made a joke!” He lets out another giggle as the older boy huffs and angrily sits beside him in the surf.  
“Would it work the other way around?” Viktor’s eyes must have shown with curiosity and mischief, because the other simply flicked water into his face with a cupped hand. Wiping the saltwater off, the little prince could imagine all those amazing adventures he could have if he could dive under the waters: all the mysteries in the sea for him to solve and explore! Makkachin yipped at the idea of a new adventure and jumped unto the Mer’s lap, eager to gain his attention. The other boy simply smiled slightly and gently stroked behind the puppy’s ear, a content smile showing on his small brown face.

“That.. I don’t know,” The older one confessed as he continued stroking the dog, “I do know that there are ways for humans to breathe the way we do.”  
As the sun began to rise higher into the sky, the Mer continued more on the possibilities of interaction between their two races. Every question Viktor threw his way, the older boy met him head-on and debunked Viktor’s misconceptions of the elusive Mer of the neighboring kingdom.

Each story the two exchanged drew them into the other’s world, yearning to understand and discover more of it. The Mer talked about their rich culture while the Viktor shared the achievements of their kingdom, how it was able to establish relationships without butchering interactions like before. They exchanged ideas on how magic worked and what made it so powerful and so unpredictable; they talked about books and records and laughed about the inconsistencies of each other’s race in the books of old. They even shared Makkachin, switching between cuddling him close or playing fetch with sticks they found washed up along the shoreline. They taught each other about their worlds, acting as if the hundreds of years of cruelty between the two races had never existed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the sun shone above their heads, the older Mer complained about the heat and bid the prince farewell.

“I have a lot to learn about the humans of Nadir. Thank you, Prince.” The Mer bowed slightly to the boy before enveloping him in a slight hug. “I will hope the next time we meet would be under better circumstances.” His voice sounded wistful, and Viktor couldn't ignore the lonely pang in his heart as he thought of his only friend leaving him so soon.

“I better hope so! I still have so many questions.” Viktor replied, calling back Makka’s attention after chasing after a piece a driftwood the Mer tossed. He watched as the other swam out into the depths only to gasp in awe when the young man dove, a flash of black and red gracing his line of sight before it left him with himself.

 _There’s more to them than what my parents tell me. They are nothing like the monsters they told me about._ Viktor was shaken from his thoughts as he looked on his dog gifting him with a pale grey shell in his mouth. After thanking the pup, they both scrambled to dry off and raced to the castle doors. Viktor ignored the startled cries of his servants and guards, the only thought in his mind his new friend and the cruelty they suffered at the hands of his people.  He felt like he needed to right the injustice brought to his friend's people; not to mention he could bring his people into an era of peace.

_Our forefathers can only tell us so little and they don’t look like the savages they’re painted out to be._

Running into his parent’s library, he grabbed as many spare notebooks he could find and began to write down his newly-acquired knowledge. He continued to write until the wax burned low and his hand started to cramp, fearing that if he didn’t write it all down he will forget it in an instant.

_Maybe I could avoid more conflicts in the future.. I could teach my people to accept the Mer and help bring peace to Nadir and Meridia, I should be able to do this as their Prince! It is my sworn duty to pave the way to peace and acceptance and I won’t allow for any more lives to be harmed or lost to this petty rivalry._

_Even if it means sacrificing myself, I will to mend the rift between our kingdoms. One way or another._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who the little seven-year-old is, right? >:)


End file.
